Paint the Town Red
by Juliette Louise
Summary: KOTOR II: After Malachor V's destruction, the rebuilding of the order falls to the Jedi Exile and her Disciple. It's a serious business, and they need to unwind. Luckily, and brand new cantina has just opened in Khoonda...
1. Chapter 1

Saer moved into the medical quarters doorway, and cast a shadow over his lab station.

Mical looked up from his chemicals. Saer was leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing an outfit she'd bought on Nar Shaddaa in order to look slightly-less conspicuously Jedi. Black pants tucked into high boots, utility jacket, lightsaber in her inside pocket instead of on her hip.

She cocked her head and smiled in a way that made him distinctly nervous.

"Saer? Are you going somewhere?"

"_We_ are going somewhere, my friend."

He sat down his tools, very carefully, blinking up at her. As always, he was amazed at her ability to transform herself though body language, affect, and clothing—with just a subtle touch of the Force. When he'd seen her last, at sunset, she was the last living Jedi Master. Now she looked like one of the multitudes of spacers to pass through Khoonda.

"Are we?"

"We are."

"Are we…going in disguise?"

"Not precisely. It's just that we won't be immediately recognizable. Don't you ever want to just go out…and be yourself? To not be a Jedi, to not carry that weight for awhile?"

Mical paused, thinking over his response carefully. "Ah, well…no. Not actually. I've never thought of it."

She moved away from the doorway. She snorted, smirking, and squeezed his shoulder. He smiled up at her, hoping fervently that she wouldn't realize how much he liked being touched by her.

"Of course not. But come with me anyway. Show me some of that stuff they taught you in Galactic Intelligence. Let's go out and just be…people. I think we should get out more, anyway."

He _had_ been going slightly stir-crazy inside the Enclave for the last few weeks. They'd cleaned, stocked, repaired, gardened, trained, meditated, and sparred until they were sick of it. And he knew Saer was even more restless than he. Sometimes he could feel her pacing in her quarters relentlessly--for hours--when she was supposedly asleep.

But what exciting place had she found to go? The Hawk wasn't up and running yet and although Dantooine was certainly beautiful, it was hardly an _exciting_ place. Khoonda didn't even have a cantina.

Saer was smiling even wider—and in a decidedly predatory way.

"…And Khoonda got a cantina."

Mical cleared his throat and started cracking his knuckles one by one. A nervous tic from childhood he'd never been able to drop.

"Ah. A cantina…" _Crack._ "Splendid."

He'd never understand it as long as he lived. Why did sentients pack themselves into tiny, smoky quarters with blaring music to drink overpriced liquor? Especially when they could just take it home?

"And you still have your civilian garb, don't you?"

"Ah. Yes, of course."

_Crack, crack._


	2. Chapter 2

The night, at least, was beautiful, and he enjoyed the walk to Khoonda. It felt decidedly strange to be back in his "civilian" clothes--no stranger, though, than seeing his Master without her flowing Jedi robes. She was wearing much less clothing than she usually did.

Why did she do this to him?

The spaceport's new cantina, from the outside, looked just like every other building in Khoonda—stucco. They had wedged it in between two garages at the central hangar. At least it wasn't the glaring neon nightmare most cantinas on Coruscant and Nar Shaddaa were.

He dutifully followed Saer in, wincing involuntarily at the wall of smoke and music. Nobody looked up as they entered. Despite the fact that the place had apparently just been opened, the sentients that sat at cards and drink looked like regulars.

Saer crossed the floor and took a seat at the bar. Mical pulled up a stool next to her. He was slightly more intimidated now that he had been when they'd visited the Mandalorian camp on Dxun.

His Master seemed absolutely, blissfully content. She gestured behind the bar. "Now isn't this nice?"

A slightly overweight but pretty human girl was wiping down the other end of the bar with a cloth. An admittedly impressive variety of liquor sat on shelves on the mirrored wall in front of them. The bar was varnished wood and lit with candles. Spacers, farmers, and even a few mercenaries sat clustered into groups along its length, conversing animatedly.

At that moment, however, the bartender took notice of them, and--horror of horrors—approached.

She had black curly hair that fell nearly to her waist and was wearing only slightly too much make-up. To his increasing discomfort, it was him she spoke to.

"What can I get you, hon?"

Damn it, there was a reason he never went undercover as a barfly! He had no idea what any of these alcohols were, let alone how to combine them into palatable drinks.

Thankfully, Saer came to his rescue.

"Two Red Ryloths, please." She laid an absurd amount of money on the bar, and smiled at the girl. Apparently quite pleased with the tip, the bartender bustled off happily, and a moment later, drinks appeared.

Saer took off her jacket and laid it off to the side. Why was she was shedding clothes again? All the Twi'Lek dancing girls in the galaxy didn't have as much effect on him as Saer in anything less than a full suit of armor and 10 yards of brown burlap.

She raised her glass to him. He toasted her. He knew that much.

"Is this a sipping sort of drink or a…swallowing sort of drink?"

Saer considered. "Well…I probably _could_ carry you home, but I don't want to."

"I'll sip."

"Excellent. To the Republic."

"The Republic."


	3. Chapter 3

An hour and four drinks had passed. The beverage he was nursing now was blue and was called something that had "sex" in it. Sex in the Cargo Bay. Sexing A Gizka. Something. There didn't seem to be a relationship between the drink or how it made him feel and its _name_ at all. Or it would have been Blue Slightly Tart Very Alcoholic Sexual Frustration.

"Good sir," Saer said, only slurring slightly. "You told me on the Hawk once that you thought the Masters were wrong to insist Jedi 'insulate themselves' from everyday life. Let's hear more about that."

"Well…I mean…" He was having articulation problems. "That part of the Jedi Code is just…it's rubbish, isn't it?"

Saer started choking on her drink.

"Rubbish?" she said, hoarsely, eyes visibly watering.

"I mean, the whole 'There is no emotion' bit. Of course there's bloody emotion! That's why we do it, isn't it? That's why we help people. We care about them. If we didn't, we'd be the bloody Sith, sitting around using the Force to change the channel on the bloody holovid. Or to erect massive leering statues of ourselves on every street corner."

"You feel…strongly about this."

"Certainly. I've studied the Order all my life. We understand the greatest mysteries of the Force, an invisible link that all living creatures share. We've taught the greatest warriors and philosophers ever known. We've fought the wars that changed the face of this galaxy. And yet, I can't have a cat, because I may become attached to it, and when it dies, I'll go mad and burn the whole bloody planet down, apparently."

"Force!" Exclaimed Saer, laughing while still trying to clear her throat. "And all the Masters thought you were so…orthodox! I was afraid you'd burn yourself out on the damned rules by the time you were Knighted!"

"Why would I speak up about this? No one is going to alter 20,000 years of dogma because some Youngling has a better idea. But it _is_ rubbish."

Saer drained her drink in one swallow and slammed it down on the bar. The black-haired girl reappeared. Saer was tipping better and better the more she drank, and this was leading to a _very_ attentive bartender.

"Another ma'am?"

"Yes, please."

"And for you, hon?" She winked at him.

"Err, yes, for me as well."

The girl scampered off.

Mical leaned forward conspiratorially, and nearly face-planted into the bar.

"Did you see that?" he whispered.

"What?" she whispered back, putting her face very close to his. She was grinning in the way that she usually did before cutting someone in half.

"That girl winked at me!"

Saer put a hand over her heart. "Scandalous!"

"I know! Why would she…"

The bartender returned and Mical straightened back up, trying to look casual. Thankfully, she departed without further incident—besides looking at him like he was mad, of course. He leaned back into the conversation.

"Why would she do that?"

Saer rolled her eyes dramatically. "Because you're quite _attractive, _you know."

"Am not!"

"Oh, come on. You're quite tall, broad of shoulder, you've got nice hair…and a pretty accent."

"At school, everyone said my accent was poncy."

"Apparently women like it."

"They do not!"

"You don't…have much experience with women, do you, Mical?" She squinted at him, chin in hand.

"Well, erm…" He was blushing brightly enough that he was sure his face was visible from orbit. "There was never much time for such things. First, the Order…and, well, you know how that goes. Then, the damned war, the MedCorps, and Republic Intel. And the Sith Triumvirate and so on."

Saer was nodding, staring straight ahead very carefully. "Of course. Well, don't worry about that. Drink your drink."

* * *

Sometime after they'd met on Dantooine in the ruined shell of the Enclave, Saer told him of her first recollection after the Sith attacked the Harbinger. She awoke in a kolto tank in an abandoned mining colony. The tank had been impregnated with a powerful toxin in an attempt to kill her, but her Jedi training granted her an increased tolerance to such chemicals and saved her life.

Her Jedi training. Right. The Force definitely wasn't saving him from being ridiculously inebriated.

"…Mical? Mical? Are you alright? You look a bit sick."

Saer's face came into focus. She was smiling at him, and it occurred that he had never seen her smile that way at anyone else. She took his hand.

"Are you alright?" she said again, massaging the center of his palm with her thumb. She worked up to the nausea-suppressing pressure point on the inside of his wrist.

"I…" _I've been in love with you since I was sixteen. It was with you that I first heard the Force sing in another person. When you left the Order, a piece of me died. When you came back, I began to live again._

"I…feel much better, thank you." He said miserably.

The look on Saer's face was completely unreadable, and for a moment she seemed to be looking _through_ him. She released his hand with a pat.

"Good. Because we're not going home yet."

* * *

"..And of course the speculation at the time was that Shaela Nurr and Duron Qel-Droma were having an affair…" He was very definitely slurring now, trying very hard to talk about historical records and retain some level of composure. The night was in full swing, sentients off all varieties clustered around the bar, talking, laughing, smoking. Only his Master's very generous tipping was saving their personal space and the attentions of the bartender.

Saer brushed shortish black hair away from her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her usually impeccable posture was faltering.

"An affair? No. I mean, they were _in a relationship_, I suppose. And fucking, certainly. Yes, of course."

He gaped. "Really? You knew them?" He gulped air. "Fucking?"

"Oh yes. They were crazy about each other. I was only a Padawan at the time, of course, but I could tell. They passed through Dantooine on the way to find the terentateks."

"But…Really?"

"Certainly." She leaned toward him, and he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. "Quite a lot of us felt the same way you did about the rules of non-attachment, actually."

His head was swimming. This was insane. For his entire tenure with the Jedi—his entire life!—he'd believed that he was the lone radical on the issue. That the entire Order was in agreement on non-attachment save for himself and a few other fringe elements and grey Jedi. He considered.

"So it was true what they said during the War? That you and Revan were….?"

Saer nearly fell into him in surprise.

"Revan!" She quite nearly shrieked. He was horrified that he'd offended his Master until he realized that she was so overcome with laughter she that she was spilling her drink on him. Seemingly inarticulate with mirth, she began attempting to dry him with one of the little square drink napkins.

"Of Force, I'm sorry." Saer, who'd somehow obtained a bar towel, said when the apparent fit of hilarity left her. She handed it to him so he could dry his more personal areas himself.

"Oh Mical, you _were_ young then. Revan had only his ambition."

"Ah yes."

"And Malak."

"Excuse me?" He abandoned the futile quest to towel himself off with an already wet rag.

Saer winked at him. "I'll bet they didn't cover _that_ in the historical logs."

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a Selkath airing his gills.

"Ah. Well, no. They didn't. So he and Bastila…that wasn't true?"

"Oh no. Bastila as well."

"Ah."

Apparently the Jedi Order had been one enormous singles party.

This realization filled him with bizarre elation, but also bitterness. How many nights had he spent aboard the _Hawk_, pacing in the medical bay, listening to Saer's dreams? He tried, but he couldn't shut them out—it was the nature of the Master/Student bond—and her emotions were always so _real_, so crisp. The War had burned them into her.

He watched her entire regiment fall on Dxun. Felt the pain of a million burns and scrapes and bruises as she clawed her way through the jungle. The air felt like soup, sweat ran into her eyes, blinding her. She had to lead the charge, they had to…

Then they started shelling them.

Or when Serrocco was flayed alive, its major cities turned into glass craters.

Or when she pulled the switch that ended the War—and killed millions.

He'd wanted to comfort her then. To be with her, heal her. But all he could do was listen, separated from her by titanium walls and 20,000 years of dogma. It was all possible, and he never knew.

"Mical," she said softly, taking his hand again. "I'm not sure if you've fully realized it yet, but…we _are_ the Jedi Order now. We can…rewrite the Order as we see fit! We can correct all those mistakes."

She shook her head, sighing. "Everyone _saw_ the faults of the Council's teachings, but what could we do? Now…we…we _are_ the damned Council. This is an opportunity of unimaginable proportions."

She leaned towards him, a rare smile on her lips.

"We're free." She whispered, squeezing his hand again.

Saer's eyes were so brown, like the dark honey they gave them as children, flecked with gold. Her cheeks were flushed from drink and from the sun they got while gardening outside the Enclave's walls. Her lips were parted, and again he could feel her warm breath on his face.

"Mical…" She managed to say, before he caught her mouth in a kiss. He just barely heard the bartender applauding before he passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun had never been this bright before. He threw an arm over his face, groaning. Damn, hadn't he closed the blinds? Had Dantooine acquired another star somehow?

Then the light went away, and he was intensely grateful. Someone laughed softly.

Someone?

Mical was on his feet in one fluid movement, in a ready stance. He looked down. And apparently, naked as the day he'd been born.

"Hey, easy!" Saer said, trying unsuccessfully not to look amused.

"Master!" He yelped, gathering up a sheet and covering his lower half. "Oh, Force, forgive me, I…"

They were in his quarters in the Enclave. Saer was wearing one of his tunics. Her hair was sticking up wildly, and she had what appeared to bruises on her knees, and teeth marks on her neck. She was smiling like the cat who'd caught the biggest mouse.

"Oh Force," he said again. "What happened? Did we get into a fight? I knew not to trust those mercenaries at the cantina! And…where are my clothes?"

Saer's eyes widened. "You really don't remember? Anything? At all?"

"No. I remember…ah…kissing you at the bar, then nothing. And I have a terrible headache."

Oh Force, he'd kissed her. Made a pass at his own Master. Shame burned his cheeks. He hoped fervently that she would forgive him someday for this breach of trust. Oh, all this time he'd been right about alcohol and its nefarious effects.

"Oh dear. Nothing at all? I can bring it out of your mind with the Force later, but I probably should…warn you first."

Warn him! Oh Force, he'd failed her! She'd probably been in some epic battle, dragging his sorry drunken corpse back the Enclave. She was covered in bruises and scrapes, and there appeared to be a small twig still stuck in her hair. First, his inappropriate conduct at the Cantina, now his apparent abandonment of her in a time of crisis!

"I can't apologize enough, Master. Please forgive me, I'll never touch a drop of alcohol again…"

"Mical, please, there was no fight."

"No fight? Then what…?"

She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, lips pursed, thinking.

"Well, do you remember when you said you had very little experience with women?"

"Yes…"

"Well, you have a great deal more now."

A soft wind blew at a wind chime outside. Birds chirped happily. Saer was completely still and expressionless, awaiting his reaction. Long moments passed as he considered this latest revelation. It was so much worse than he could have imagined.

"Oh Force, Master." He whispered bleakly. He couldn't even look at her. He put his head in his hands and sunk back onto the bed.

"I took advantage of you."

Saer exploded into laughter, sliding down the wall to sit cross-legged on the floor, overtaken by mirth for a moment. Then, to his intense surprise, she crawled across the floor to sit at his feet. How could she stand to be anywhere near him after what he'd done?

She took his hands in her own, catching her breath.

"Mical, please believe me. I was quite aware and willing. Once I pull it from your mind for you to see, I'm sure you agree." She looked away for a moment, sighing. "In fact, given the circumstances, I suppose I took advantage of you! I had no idea that you were so drunk! You seemed extremely…" She gestured with her hand, searching for tact, "…cognizant at the time."

Mical felt like his brain was about to melt down and dribble out his ears. He'd…apparently…made love to Saer, the woman he'd loved and desired for more than 10 years, and the closest he could come to being there was a bloody second-hand memory! This was it. All the sex he was ever going to have, and he didn't even remember it.

"Yes, well…I'd never really drank alcohol before. Or, for that matter…" He trailed off dejectedly, gesturing off into nowhere.

Saer's eyes widened. "Really?"

He shrugged, looking at her perfect legs sticking out from the bottom of his tunic. Even at that moment, he couldn't help but notice that it was also falling open and exposing one smallish, but perfect breast. That he would never be permitted to touch again.

"Well, then you're a damn quick study."

He perked up.

"Really?"

"Oh, unambiguously."

"Ah. Well I'm glad that I at least…Wait. If there was no fight, then why are there leaves and twigs in your…." He ran his hands through his hair, and encountered a few snarls and bits of foliage. "…our…hair?"

Saer had that smile again.

"Oh Force, really? Outside?"

"Twice. And once when we arrived back at the Enclave."

There were no words.

"I'm just glad I got to you first." She said. "You could have killed a lesser woman."

Her humor was lost on him. His heart felt like it would beat right out of his ribcage. This was it. There would never be another moment like this.

He sank down onto the ground to join Saer, still clutching her hands.

"I love you, you know. I always have. Since I was 16! I never forgot about you during the War, I always hoped the Force you bring you to me again, even if I could never be a Jedi, just to be near you would have been enough—" he babbled.

She put a gentle finger to his lips. "Mical, I know."

Silence.

"You do?"

"Of course I do! We are Master and Apprentice! Your mind is open to me! And your shielding is…not all that good."

He laughed quietly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I felt you for all those nights in the medbay, reaching out, into my dreams. It was like you were there with me in sleep. I could always feel you on the edge of perception. You saved my life a thousand times. And we almost died a thousand times, together. And I realized that that was…the way it should be. How I wanted us to be. Together. I love you."

He caught Saer up easily in his arms and lifted her into bed with him. Suddenly her mouth was on his, her hands in his hair, her legs wrapped around him.

"We've got a lot of work to do, a lot of Code to re-write." He managed to say, when his mouth wasn't occupied.

Saer's reply was muffled.

"Mm, yes. But there's always tomorrow."


End file.
